


And so the Little Wolf Outlived the Big Wolf

by HathorAroha



Category: Life Is Strange 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Lone Wolf Ending (Life is Strange 2), TW: Suicide discussion, TW: mentions of Covid, hints of Chris/Daniel (mid-late teens), tw: suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26137315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HathorAroha/pseuds/HathorAroha
Summary: It is seven years since Sean's death at the border, and the day Daniel has dreaded since then has come: the day he officially outlives his older brother. On the night of Daniel's seventeenth, Sean comes to him in a dream and makes him promise to call someone, anyone, just so he isn't alone anymore.
Relationships: Daniel Diaz & Chris Eriksen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	And so the Little Wolf Outlived the Big Wolf

Seven lonely years have passed for Daniel, each day shouldered with the shame of having killed his own brother at the border. He sees Sean again and again in his nightmares--the blood, his desperate choking as his lungs fill with blood, how still and silent he was, and is now, in death. Over and over in his dreams, he hears Sean blame him, disown him as his brother, that it’s his fault he’s dead, and that he deserved to be alone in Mexico.

He still remembers the day he’d heard someone behind him shout “ _ enano _ !” and Daniel had whirled around too fast at the word, heart pounding, impossible hope springing in him that somehow,  _ somehow _ , Sean was alive again. 

But it wasn’t Sean. Of course it wasn’t. 

He used to love that word, Sean’s affectionate nickname for him. 

Not anymore. 

Not since July 2017--how was it already seven years ago? 

How had all those years passed so slowly in the moment, and yet on looking back, they had flown with speed? 

Daniel didn’t understand. 

Time had no meaning anymore, not without Sean, not without his family, not without his friends.

2018 had been a silent shell of a year, twelve dull, hazy months marching in weary formation past him.

2019 was a hollow echo of 2018, bringing nothing but more empty mornings following sleepless nights.

2020 had rung in as hollow as the last three years.

Daniel remembers 2020, the year a pandemic had coiled around the world like a boa constrictor around its prey. He remembers having hoped he’d get the virus, just so he could die, he could be free of this pitiful shell that barely kept him alive. Whether the virus took him fast or slow, at least Daniel would be with Sean again--hell, with dad and Mushroom again, too--and he would finally feel  _ true  _ happiness again for the first time since 2017. 

Unless of course Sean would hate him. 

Would their own father disown him for killing Sean?

Daniel knew he would deserve it--it was all his doing, his recklessness, his impulsivity.

He didn’t deserve a big brother like Sean. Sean didn’t ever deserve him--what kind of little brother killed his own big brother he’d spent his whole life looking up to? 

A little brother named Daniel Diaz, that’s who. 

If he hadn’t been born, Sean would be alive right now.  _ Dad  _ would be alive right now.

2020’s virus comes, scours Mexico, Daniel hoping it would come to him, and then…

He never contracts the virus, he survives the pandemic, time carries on without turning back. 

If anyone deserved to die, it was he, the worst brother in the world, Daniel Diaz. 

Fate, instead, had seen it fit to spare him, to torture him for another year or two or...however long his life would be, with his last memory of Sean was him dead because of him. He didn’t know what was worse: his own last memory of Sean, or Sean’s last memory being Daniel getting him killed, dying a slow, horrible death. 

And one day, just like that, it’s April 11th 2024: Daniel’s 17th birthday. Sean had been one month away from turning seventeen. Now he is forever one month away from seventeen. 

Daniel has now outlived his big brother. 

The same big brother who had comforted him when he got sick from berries, who stayed close to him to protect him from nightmares in the cave, who took that choc-o-crisp from the car in the parking lot just for him, who taught him to skip stones, and had trained and encouraged him in the use of his powers, despite frequent disagreement over when and where to use it. He’d trusted Sean when he told him to use or not use his powers, though jealousy had sometimes overridden reason--Humboldt County could confirm this. Daniel still didn’t like to think of what happened to Sean on that farm back in California, where he had lost an eye because of him. Where Daniel had attacked and choked Cassidy out of jealousy--childish and stupid, but he  _ had  _ been a kid. 

He’d hated Cassidy for how much time with Sean she had stolen from Daniel.

Now part of Daniel wishes she were here. Or Finn, or even that (Norwegian? Swedish? he couldn’t remember) couple, whatever their names were. He’d liked Hannah too, and Jacob--

They’ve probably all forgotten him by now. The trimmigrants, the people at Away, probably even Chris Eriksen, and even his own grandparents. Maybe they’d taken him for dead. Probably a good thing. They’d hate him for having killed Sean in his haste to get into Mexico, they’d all blame him for taking his life forever.

Daniel had  _ promised  _ Sean that day he’d see them into Mexico when Sean had given up and wanted to surrender. How bitterly ironic it was that Sean never broke his promise never to lie again, and yet, Daniel couldn’t even make  _ one  _ promise come true. 

He’d let down Sean. Sean, who used to be his big brother, seven years older than him. 

Now  _ Daniel _ was older than him, and it wasn’t right. Sean should have been turning twenty-four this year, not be forever a month shy of seventeen. They should’ve been brothers together in Mexico, drinking beer and chilling together on the beach outside their house. They should’ve been fighting over little things like all siblings were wont to do, but make up ten minutes later with the argument forgotten. Seventeen was definitely “too old” for a bedtime story, but Daniel would give  _ anything  _ for one more retelling of the Wolf Brothers, if it meant Sean was still here with him. 

Sean had made him promise to be brave, to be strong, to be a fighter like he knew he was. 

He’d tried. Fuck it. He’d  _ tried,  _ for nearly seven years now, for Sean’s sake. Even if it meant he had to rely on crime to survive day by day. Nevertheless, while Daniel might break gangsters’ bones and twist burglars’ arms behind their back, and pickpocket tourists with the use of his powers, he never murdered in cold blood; if he had to kill, he hated it. The dead cops at the border still weighed on him even seven years later, the whisper of Sean’s words on surrender still distinct in his ears.

_“It’s not who we are!”_ Sean had snapped that day at the border, throwing his keys out the window. “ _It’s_ _over! The end!_ ” 

Sean hadn’t wanted him to kill all those cops--

Just like Daniel hadn’t wanted to take revenge on the vigilantes back in that prison cell.

_ “We’re better than that, Sean.” _

Hell, Daniel hadn’t wanted to kill those guards at the police station! 

_ “I don’t want to hurt any more people!” _

And yet, Daniel had been so desperate to show they could make it to Mexico, he’d betrayed his own words. If only he could’ve taken them back, if only he had agreed to surrender. Sean might have gone to prison, but at least he’d be  _ alive _ . At least he could continue his awesome drawings--maybe a comic series on the adventures of Super Wolf saving the day by stopping a wayward bus from crashing into a lake...

The morning of his seventeenth birthday is no different to any other as Daniel trudges out into the dawn, his unopened can of beer in hand, feet sinking into warming sand, staring out at the ocean; once, he would’ve been excited to have a swim under the scorching sun, but any happiness he could have had from a dip had vanished with Sean’s last heartbeat. Even his trusty little canoe had not been touched for a long time, too lonely without Sean there to share in the fun. 

Daniel opens the can, tilting his head back as he takes a long drink from it, feeling the first warm rays of the rising sun hitting his bare arm and the side of his face. The otherwise peaceful, distant lapping of the waves and cry of seabirds neither lifted nor dampened his spirits, just as numb to its ambience as to everything else in the world. 

_ Seventeen today. Happy fucking birthday to me.  _

Daniel ambles across the soft sand toward Sean’s memorial, which he’d visited every day without fail. He’d sometimes sit by it at night, long hours passing without a word, just staring up at the stars. Sean had loved the stars--he remembered him getting so excited over Stanley and Arthur’s telescope that night they had camped in the canyon together. 

_ Fuck. How is that seven years ago now?  _

Reaching Sean’s memorial, Daniel slumps back against the wall, sliding down it until he sits on the sand, still cool from the night. He takes another long swig from his beer, setting it down next to him, arms wrapped around his knees, turning his head to look at the blue cross with its words: “RIP Sean”, and the eyepatch wrapped around it at the bottom. The unlit candle holders, one for each year since Sean’s death, sat where they always did, with their weathered Mother Marys and white wicks. Daniel had once lit one of them, and had immediately been reminded of when he, Sean, and their mother had let lanterns float on the wind over the canyon’s gorge. He never lit the candles again. 

Daniel stays silent for several minutes, looking out across the beach where his canoe sat, still waiting to sail upon the high seas. He rarely spoke aloud at Sean’s grave, hating the silence in return. Even when he talked aloud, he knew all that heard him was cold cement, weathering wood, six blank-eyed Marys, and the wooden wolf that never howled with him. 

_ Hey Sean… _

“You know what day it is?” Daniel paused as though listening to an answer. “No? It’s my seventeenth fucking birthday. Yeah. I’m older than you now.” 

Once, he’d have given anything to be the older brother, so  _ he  _ could boss  _ Sean  _ around instead. He’d both loved and hated being the younger sibling--sure, he was spoiled and got away with a lot of things, but at the same time, he’d have done anything to be the older brother for once. 

“Fuck being seventeen,” Daniel continued, tilting his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to grow up. I don’t want to get older and older than you. Shit, Sean, one day, I’ll be old enough to be your...our...father. If I make it to that age.” 

A ray of sun passes over the lighter hung around the cross, glinting off its bronzed surface. 

“It’s been eight years and I still miss our dad, Sean. He’d…” Daniel’s voice threatens to give way mid-sentence. “He would hate me. Right?” 

No answer. Of course there wasn’t. There never would be. 

Another memory from the canyon in Arizona flickers in his memory: Sean’s loving words to him after Daniel had asked if his eye was okay. 

_ “I love you, no matter what happens…”  _ Sean had assured him,  _ “You hear me?” _

“You’d sounded so sure, Sean,” Daniel whispered, “You know, that day at the canyon. You’d promi--you said you’d always love me. But you’d hate me too. I killed you.” 

Maybe it was for the best Sean couldn’t answer from wherever the fuck he was now. Heaven? Hell? Who the fuck even knew anymore. 

“Everyone would want me to burn in hell. Or rot in jail.” 

_ For life, too.  _

“Even Lyla would,” Daniel pushed the memory of Lyla’s warm laugh out of his mind, “You were her best friend. I was just the kid brother, right? No reason she’d care about me now. Not after...the border.” 

He still had the newspaper article about the border massacre, complete with a picture of Sean, as he was when he was still alive. When he still had two eyes. When he was still smiling. When he wasn’t choking to death on his own blood. 

“How old would Lyla be now? She was your age, so…” Daniel paused to count on his fingers. “She’d be twenty-four... _ you  _ should be twenty-four.” 

Daniel couldn’t bring himself to imagine what Sean might’ve been doing at twenty-four were he still alive. Would he still be in Mexico? No, he’d wanted to surrender--so, USA? But there was no way Daniel would have let him be locked up in prison, not while he could do something about it with his powers. 

“Lyla’s probably at university anyway,” Daniel guessed, “Got a job, got married, probably thinks we’re dead. Moved on. Yeah, I saw her number in your journal, Sean. But I...I couldn’t do it. Fuck that.” 

Daniel grabbed his beer, draining the can before throwing it away on the sand. 

“Our grandparents are probably dead by now, right? Better they die never knowing I killed you. Our friends at Away, our mom, Chris...I can’t, Sean. I fucking can’t do shit. I couldn’t even fucking keep a promise.” Daniel clenched his jaw, wrapping his arms around his knees, hands balled into fists. “I hate promises. They’re bullshit.” 

_ At least you kept your promise not to lie again.  _

Daniel found himself staring at the red bandana wrapped around his wrist, memories of Mushroom and Brody surfacing at once in his mind. Would Mushroom still have liked him? She had listened to him every time and usually ignored Sean. She wasn’t afraid of his powers; conversely, she’d stuck to him closer than ever. 

Brody...Brody would be utterly horrified by Sean’s death at Daniel’s hands. He’d no doubt write about it on his blog, how Daniel had become a full-fledged criminal from day one in Mexico. But how else was Daniel going to survive other than crime? It was easy to get used to it, especially with his own telekinetic powers at hand. No, best he think Daniel was dead too. 

Daniel hated to think of Chris fearing he was dead, but that was for the best. He’d hate him too, probably draw Captain Spirit striking him down into the fires of damnation. Chris had also liked Sean, and Sean in turn had thought him a cool kid. 

“Remember Chris? That kid next door to our grandparents’? Yeah. He’d replace Mantroid with me as the ultimate supervillain if he knew what I did. He told me he wished he had a cool big brother like you. If only you were  _ his  _ big brother, not mine, then you’d be alive, right?” 

_ Chris wouldn’t get Sean killed. He’d have protected Sean all the way.  _

“I wonder if he still thinks about me?” 

_ Maybe...maybe not.  _

“He’d be seventeen now too. Fuck. He’s forgotten me by now.” 

_ But I haven’t forgotten him. Wish I could.  _

“Damn it, Sean, I don’t want to be old. I want to be the younger brother again. I--I don’t  _ want  _ to be an older brother at all. You should be twenty-four now. Not...sixteen fucking years old. I’d never take being your younger brother for granted again. Ever. Hell, I’d leave you and Cassidy alone. I won’t even hurt her like I did that night. I  _ did  _ hurt her, but...not as much as I hurt you. Not gonna ever forget the first time I saw you without that patch back in Nevada.”

Nevada...that reminded him. 

“She was a psycho, Sean, but...I can’t help wondering what happened to Lisbeth now. Not that I give a fuck after what she did to me.” 

No reply, as usual. There’s never going to be. 

“Not that anyone cares about me anyway. Even if they did--I’m a monster, Sean.” 

He can’t believe he still remembers the night bus, deeper in time than even Nevada, when he’d asked Sean if he was a monster. 

“You were wrong, Sean. I  _ am _ . Everyone would say it too if they knew I killed you. They’d wish I died instead of you. At least they’ll still like you. Even Cassidy. I’m...I’m not worthy to be a Diaz. Even dad would say so.” 

Still more fucking silence. Daniel pulls himself to his feet, turning away from the grave, Sean’s silence too much for him. It was always too much. 

“See? I knew you’d agree.” 

The rest of his seventeenth is just as lackluster as last year’s birthday, and the year before, and the year before  _ that _ , on down to his eleventh--the worst birthday ever. He’d have rather spent his eleventh back at that church in Nevada than here. At least if he had still been there, Sean might still have been alive. Maybe. Unless Nicholas had shot him or beat him to death like he’d tried to in the church the day Sean and their mom had pulled him out of the cult’s death grip. 

The sun sets. The sky dims. The sand cools under his feet, and the ocean darkens until all that’s left of it is the sound of lapping waves. Foam froths under stars and Daniel looks out at that wild, wild expanse of night and notices nothing. The sand is gritty between his toes, sticking to his soles as he trudges to his canoe, toes bumping against splintering wood as he runs a hand along its side. The wood peels under his nails, prickles under his palm.

_ This thing is old.  _

At least it had the luxury of aging. At least it hadn’t murdered its own brother at the border. At least it didn’t have anyone to miss in an entirely different country. 

At least it wasn’t alive. 

Daniel leans an arm on the canoe, looking out to the ocean. He’d once heard about how deep and cold it was, and how it covered at least three quarters of the planet. It was strange--usually nature had always freaked him out, but the ocean? The ocean never had, not even once in his life.

Tonight is the same: it still doesn’t, and he imagines that deep, deep watery place, stars blurring under the waves. Goosebumps prickle his skin as he thinks of submerging under the waves, swimming in coal-black, unable to see which way was up or down. It would be so easy to just swim all night. 

All he had to do was get his canoe into the water, the waves lapping under and around him, the ocean a big, black thing lost to the night. 

When he makes it in the water, stretching his body out on the canoe’s floor, head resting on the wooden seat, the bobbing and rocking is enough to lull him into drowsiness. 

_ Just a little rest. Forget everything… _

Is he awake? Is he dreaming? Surely he’s dreaming--for how could Sean be sitting across from him in the canoe so far from shore? 

“Hey,  _ enano _ .” 

Daniel just stares back at him, not saying anything. 

“Grown deaf in your old age, huh?” Sean’s voice is lightly teasing. “Seventeen, huh?” 

_ Fuck.  _

“Don’t remind me.” 

“Old age? Or that you’re--”

“That I’m older than you now.” Daniel wraps his arms around his knees, shivering from both cooling night and emotion. “I changed my mind.” 

“About what?” 

“Wanting to be the older brother for once.” 

Daniel hears Sean’s laugh. “I’m glad you weren’t--you bossed me around enough as a kid.” 

Daniel doesn’t share in the good humour, his arms wrapping tighter around his bent knees, staring down at the bottom of the boat. 

“You should be twenty-four in a month,” Daniel mumbles to his knees, “But you never will be.” 

“Well, you will be, one day.” 

“What if I don’t want to be?” 

A long silence from Sean. 

“Dude, we need to talk.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really, dude. I want you to answer this for me.”

Sean’s tone is deadly serious now, all the former light-heartedness gone, and Daniel can see his shadow leaning forward to speak close to him. 

“So...how does the story of the wolf brothers end?” 

Daniel lets his hand trail in the dark water, rolling waves pushing back against his wrist. It is so inviting, so dark that there might well have been no bottom at all, just endless water all the way down. It would be so easy to just…”fall” out, make it look like a tragic drowning. At least he would be free of guilt. He could join Sean again. 

“I think their story ends right here.”

Silence. Sean is silent for so long Daniel begins to think he might wake up soon to his canoe devoid of his brother’s presence. 

“Here?” Daniel hates the disappointment in Sean’s voice, like he’d let him down.  _ Again _ . “It ends right here?  _ Our  _ story?” 

“Sean...I can’t do it.” 

“Do what?” 

Daniel can’t look at Sean. “Keep a fucking promise. You made me promise to be strong, be a fighter, be brave like I...like I  _ used  _ to be.” 

“From what i see,” Daniel can see Sean spread his arms wide. “You kept your promise.” 

A surge of frustration runs through Daniel and he clenches his hands on the sides of the boat. 

“No. You know full well. I killed you. I wish I was never born.” 

Again, it appears he has struck Sean speechless. When he speaks again, his voice is far softer than before, almost like he’s whispering. 

“Why?” 

“Then you’d be alive, okay?!” Daniel snaps, his words rising in volume, “You  _ and  _ dad would be alive! That’s why!” 

“Daniel--”

“Everything would be better without me! You were wrong that day on the nightbus! I  _ am  _ a monster--you were wrong! I  _ killed you. _ ” 

“Wait--”

“Chris wished he had a brother as cool as you--I wish he was your little brother instead of me. He wouldn’t have gotten you killed, like me!” 

“Hey--”

“At least you’d be here--you deserve to be alive instead of me! Sean--how can I fucking  _ live  _ like this?!” 

“You did for seven years.” 

“I wish I was dead right now.” 

“Daniel--you don’t.” 

“Yes I do, okay?! I deserve to burn in hell--”

“No, you--” 

“It’s my fault you’re dead--I know dad would disown me if he knew. You’ve probably already dis--”

“No fucking way,  _ enano _ . Did you forget what I told you in the canyon?” 

“Forget what?” 

“No matter what happens, you’re still my brother.” 

“A brother that’s committed fratricide.” 

“Dude, not even close. It was a cop who shot me, not you, right?” 

“I may as well have committed fratricide. I deserve to commit--”

“Yeah, no. No fucking way I’m letting you be my little brother that committed suicide. You think I went through hell and back for you to just take your own life?”

“I des--”

“Don’t even finish that bullshit. Would  _ you  _ let me?” 

“Let you do what?” 

“Take my own life?” 

Daniel gapes at him, horrified at the idea. “No! But--if you were me--wouldn’t you?” 

“No, no, and definitely no, dude.”

“ _ Why? _ ” 

“Because I’d want to keep living, for my little brother, that’s why.” 

“Fuck that. I gave up years ago. Everyone will hate me. I’ve done too many bad things now. Bank heists, pick-pocketing, whatever. I’m already a bad person.” 

“Do you think our dad would want you to give up?” 

“No.” 

“Dude, you gotta promise me one thing, okay?” 

“I hate promises.” 

“Just one thing. I swear.” 

“You swear? Because if it’s gonna be some crap like keep fighting--”

“ _ Call someone. _ ” 

Daniel blinks, speechless in his surprise. That was one of the last things he’d expected Sean to say.

“What? Like who the hell would I call?”

“Someone we know full well wouldn’t abandon you.”

“I can’t see our grandparents liking what I’ve done.” 

“What about our mom?” 

“I thought you called her Karen.” 

“She’s still our mother, dude.” 

“She’d hate me for kill--”

“Dude!” Is it just Daniel, or does Sean sound genuinely exasperated? “ _ You  _ didn’t kill me!” 

“But--”

“You fought to  _ get us to Mexico,  _ even when I gave up!” 

“Wish I’d given up too. Then you wouldn’t have died. Maybe in prison, but at least you’d be alive.”

“Daniel--” 

“Dunno where I would’ve gone.” 

“Where would you like to have gone?” 

“To Away, probably,” Daniel says without having to think twice about his response, “Maybe our grandparents.” He’s surprised when he finds himself choking up out of nowhere. The stars above are getting just as watery as their reflection in the ocean. “I miss them. Especially Joan.” 

“Somewhere safe and with family and friends, huh?” 

“Yeah. But Chris’ll hate me. I already lied to him about my powers once.” 

“He sent us that letter, remember?” 

“Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Nah, I think it means he’d be happy to hear from you again.” 

“He’d have forgotten me already. He wouldn’t care anymore.” 

“How do you know that?” Sean’s tone takes that of great surprise. “Wow, have you suddenly developed telepathic powers too? How’d you know he’s thinking that?” 

“I don’t, but I  _ know  _ he will.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Don’t fool yourself, Sean--I’ve done bad things.” 

“Yeah, dude, so have I. And you know what?” 

“What.” 

“Mexico is not helping you. You never really wanted to come here.  _ I  _ should’ve listened to you.” 

Daniel angrily wipes away his tears. “But I  _ did  _ want to go!” 

“Yeah...no. You didn’t actually want to go--you only went along with it, right? I was the selfish one here,  _ enano _ . Even Finn could see that you didn’t want to go to Puerto Lobos. Remember Finn?” 

“Of course! And I should never have hurt Cassidy! I was stupid to do that! See, more bad things I’ve done. But I miss even her now.” 

“Huh, I thought you found Cassidy too weird and whiny for you.” 

“Yeah well, I wasn’t  _ wrong. _ And even Finn would hate me.” 

“Yeah no. I think he’d still like you.”

“Lyla would blame me.” 

“She wouldn’t.” 

“She liked you a lot, Sean.” 

“Yeah, well, she liked  _ you  _ a lot too, Mr. I Wanna Marry Lyla When I Grow Up.” 

“I did not!” 

“Mm-hm.” 

“Shut up.” 

“What about Brody? Damn, I’d always meant to send him an email on his blog.” 

“He’d--” 

“Nah, he’d want to help. If anyone has faith in humanity and giving people second chances, it’s him.” 

“But--” 

“Daniel, just listen to me. Just  _ call someone _ . Or just send them a letter. Whatever.” 

“But…” 

“No more buts. Please, just promise me this  _ one  _ thing,  _ enano _ . Promise.” 

Daniel doesn’t want to agree to the promise--they’d always turned bad for him. And what if he couldn’t keep  _ this  _ promise either? Promises were fucking useless. 

“Do I have to?” 

“Just  _ one _ . I swear. Okay?” 

Damn Sean and his stubbornness--not that Daniel couldn’t be just  _ as _ \--if not more--stubborn too. But even Daniel could hear the deep desperation and earnestness with which Sean tried to get through to him. 

_ If I say yes...I might wake up.  _

“Daniel?” 

_ He’ll never give up. Like I didn’t give up when he did.  _

Daniel drops his face in his hands, rubs hard at his eyes, not wanting to think of Sean disappearing and him waking up again to his lonely self in the canoe. He sits crouched, knees up and hands covering his face, as Sean’s...ghost? Spirit? waits quietly. When Daniel is ready, he gathers whatever is left of his strength and looks up again at Sean across from him. He knows Sean will likely disappear if he says yes. 

He takes a deep breath. Nods. “Fine, Sean. Promise.” 

“That’s my  _ enano _ .” 

Daniel opens his eyes with a little jolt, feeling the hard seat at the back of his head and the wooden boards under his back. He winces as he sits up, feeling the boat rocking. He stares at the seat across from him, now devoid of Sean’s ghost or whatever that was. 

_ Just a dream.  _

And yet...it had felt nothing like a dream, as though Sean really had visited him in the canoe in the middle of this dark, lapping expanse of ocean. Daniel could still picture his silhouette, the way he had sat across from him, the way his voice sounded exactly the same as it had done when he was sixteen. 

Daniel pulls himself up, hands gripping the sides of the canoe, until he is sitting up on the boat’s floor. Waves splash over his fingers, the canoe rocks, the stars shiver in the ocean. 

_ Was that...real?  _

Daniel knows all too well if he calls anyone, whether in Mexico or otherwise, the police would surely track him down. Then again…

_ If they find me, I have my powers.  _

If he had to hurt or, worse, kill some police officers to protect himself because he made a simple phone call, then so be it. 

Would Sean  _ really  _ want him to call someone? Or had that been a wishful dream, a desperate desire to be in a safer place so he could do just that? 

_ I don’t feel like a fighter… _

Daniel hated the feeling of being tugged in two different directions by indecision. 

_ What if the virus from 2020 took them?  _

Could he bear calling Lyla--if she even had that same phone number anymore--only to find out she had succumbed to the pandemic? What if he journeyed all the way back to Away, only to discover the pandemic had wiped them all out, leaving only a ghost town behind? 

_ I already lost dad… _

He can’t think about it, he tries to push away the idea of his mom, hell, even his grandparents, having been taken by the pandemic. He doesn’t want to think of them being dead too, leaving him all alone without family to turn to. Not just blood family, but the whole family at Away, including Joan, who was like the cool auntie he and Sean never had. Hell, even the weed farm family at Humboldt County, and Jake and his sister, Sarah-Lee. 

_ They’ll hate me too.  _

Daniel ignores his sore neck and back as he pushes himself back onto the seat, taking up the oars, rowing back to the shore. The rhythmic lap of the oars through the water as he moves them with his powers alone is enough to distract him, even if only a little. Yet, he cannot shake the desperation in Sean’s words, if he even was real then, dream or not. 

_ Who the hell would I call? Who would care anymore?  _

How much had the world changed since 2017, much less 2020? How much had the people he’d once known changed? Where were they all now? 

_ Somewhere far from me.  _

Should he call Chris? He’d be in high school by now, perhaps with a girlfriend (why did that thought make him jealous?), maybe he’d have a super-cool webcomic--Daniel could absolutely see him drawing one. He wonders if in some alternate timeline he might have stayed in the USA, surrendered when Sean had, and been best buddies forever with Chris? 

_ Probably forgotten me by now.  _

The canoe shudders as the bottom hits sand, rocking gently in small lapping waves rushing and retreating on the foreshore. But Daniel doesn’t feel like getting out yet, still holding on to that dream or vision or whatever it was, of Sean across from him in the canoe, insisting he keep one more promise. 

_ Just one person. That’s what he said didn’t he? Just one.  _

Daniel still has that letter from Chris, and he still has his phone number--he was probably still living with his dad, right? Unless…

_ Don’t think about it. Don’t think about that.  _

There was no way the pandemic took him--no fucking way. 

Trying to keep his mind distracted from that terrible what-if, Daniel busies himself with getting out of the water, dragging the canoe back up onto the sand with his powers, and, once satisfied it was as far away from the tide as it could be, he turns to return to his...house, he supposes, even if it was just a rundown rectangle of rotten wood, tin, glass, and peeling paint. 

_ I have to call him. I have to.  _

Daniel doesn’t even know what time it is right now, only that the sky is already a subtle shade lighter, nor does he know how many time zones separate Puerto Lobos and Beaver Creek in Oregon. Two? Three? Five? No, it can’t be that many; it had to be three at the most. 

_ Just one. That’s it.  _

There was no way he was going to break another promise. 

It isn’t until the next evening that Daniel feels it is late enough in Beaver Creek that school would be finished, and Chris might--unless he was out with friends or something--be back home. He’d managed to find an old phone that somehow still worked, and then it took another hour or so until he worked up the courage--without feeling like he’d devolve into a full-on anxiety attack--to find the little scrap piece of paper with Chris’s number.

_ Now or never. If I don’t do it now… _

Daniel takes a deep breath, lets it out as slow as possible, though his nerves are no less on edge than before. 

_ Just do it.  _

The easiest and yet the hardest fucking promise to keep. 

Daniel unfolds the letter on the floor, the phone gripped in one hand, thumb hovering over the numberpad. He traces the number with a finger, reading it again and again, knowing he was just delaying for time. But this was easier, far easier than all the will he needed to gather just to press the first number. 

_ Is it better he doesn’t know? I don’t want him knowing I’m... _

Shit. 

He tries to place himself in Chris’s shoes, thinks whether it is worse for him to know he’s alive and a killer, than dead and not know what he did. 

_ Fucking hell. What the fuck do I do?  _

He takes another deep breath, lets it out at once. 

_ Do it.  _

He closes his eyes, sees himself back in the canoe, Sean across from him, urging Daniel to promise one more thing for him. 

_ I wish Sean was here. Alive.  _

He opens his eyes, sees his hands, the phone in one, the scrap paper in the other, fingers still underlining Chris’s number. 

_ At least...I’ll know.  _

Before the last grain of courage can be swept away within a heartbeat, Daniel presses down the first digit of his childhood friend’s number. It seems to be strangely easier once he does this, as though the very act has unlocked the rest of his will to do it. To call someone. Anyone. 

He finishes dialling. 

A moment passes, silent. Then it rings, loud in Daniel’s ear, making him jump.

Daniel immediately hangs up, drops the phone like it’s a spider, heart hammering. He stares down at the phone, but doesn’t really see it, locked in a sort of daze. 

_ At...at least the number still works… _

And he’d hung up before the first ring could finish, let alone be answered. 

_ Maybe it’s not his anymore? What if… _

Well, at least he’d managed the first steps--now to hold on until someone or voicemail picks it up. Not that he’d be using the voicemail. 

_ Just do it.  _

Daniel lets a few minutes pass, until his heart has stopped battering against his ribs, until his head clears, until that courage returns, even if only in partial fighting form. 

_ One more time. Just...let it ring. This is all for you, Sean.  _

He dials the number. 

He lets it ring.

And ring.

And ring again--

A click.

Someone has picked it up.

Daniel clenches the phone, forces himself not to hang up.

It takes every fibre in his being to hang on. 

Someone answers. A deep-ish voice, one that sounds not quite fully matured. One that sounds seventeen years old. Or still sixteen. 

“Hey, who’s this?” 

Daniel forces himself to answer. He feels the effort will kill him. He clenches his eyes tight, opens them, squints against bright light. 

“C-Chris?” 

“Yeah, Chris Eriksen. Who’s calling? We don’t recognise this number.” 

Daniel clenches his free hand tight, so tight his knuckles turn white, and his nails dig so hard into his palm it hurts.

“Chris--it’s me. It’s...Daniel.” 

“Daniel who?” 

He knew it. He knew Chris wouldn’t remember him. Maybe it was for the best. 

“It--no. Forget I called.” Daniel hates how his voice breaks. How close he is to tears. To just breaking down all together like he had  _ that  _ day. 

“Why?” 

“It--it’s okay. Better you don’t know.”

_ Fuck’s sake, don’t break down  _ now, he berates himself. 

“What, are you gonna come murder and rob me in the night?” Chris’s tone is light-hearted, and Daniel wishes he could feel the same. “Better call--”

“No! Don’t call the police! Please!” It comes out all in a burst of panic, of not wanting him to know.

“Whoa, I was kidding. Chill. It’s cool, dude. Just wanted to know.” 

Should he tell Chris? Should he reveal his last name? 

“It’s...do you remember a…” his voice fails him, and it takes everything he has to force himself to say his last name. “..a Daniel Diaz?”

“Yeah, I do,” Chris says, and there’s a long pause during which Daniel doesn’t know if he’s going to hang up or say something. And when he does, it’s in a soft voice. “Holy shit, wait. Is that...is that you?” 

“Yeah. It’s me.” 

Another long stunned silence. 

“Omigod, no way. The newspapers all said--”

“Yeah. I know.” Daniel forces himself not to break down. Not until he knows Chris doesn’t hate him. 

“Fuck, man, I took you for dead. Your grandparents did too.” 

“It was for the best you all did.” 

“What? Why? Why didn’t you call us?” 

“You’ll hate me.” 

“For what?” Chris sounds genuinely concerned. “Why?” 

“I’m--I’m worse than Mantroid.” 

“Whoa, you remember!” 

“Yeah. Course I do.” 

“How can you be worse than him, dude?” 

Daniel knows it’s stupid he’s whispering now. No one was going to hear him. But what if police were tracking this call now? 

Still. He had to know. He had to.

“What did the newspapers say? I mean--do you remember--” 

“That there was a massacre at the US-Mexico border. That Sean was--”

“Murdered. Because of me.” Daniel has never heard his own voice sound so flat and lifeless. Like-- 

“Wait, what?” Chris’s voice, in contrast, is full of life, though no less confused. “That’s not what it said.” 

Daniel has no idea if Chris is faking confusion or not, but if he is, he should take up theatre, because he’s  _ good _ . 

“But, Chris...I did.”

“How? I thought you looked up to Sean.” 

“Yeah. I did. Do. Now he’s...gone. Because of me.” 

“Daniel, what happened? Just tell me, I won’t be mad. Swear.” 

“You will be.” 

“No. I swear.” 

“You’ll hate me for what I did.”

“Just tell me. Really.” 

Daniel doesn’t want to remember that day again, doesn’t want to see Sean dead next to him in the driver’s seat, because of him. But he has to. So Chris knows. 

“That day. At the border--”

“You made it. I knew you would.” 

“I wish I didn’t.” 

“Why?” 

Daniel is clenching the phone so hard he’s sure he’s going to snap it. His power is itching,  _ burning  _ in his palms, at his fingertips, and his head is starting to hurt with the effort of restraining his powers. 

“Sean...he wanted to surrender. To give himself up.” 

“What? Why?” 

“I wish I knew. I wish I’d  _ asked. _ ” 

_ Maybe he’d be alive if I did… _

“I didn’t want us to give up. We’d been through too much shit.” 

“You wanted to keep fighting for Mexico.” 

“Yeah.” 

“What did you do?” 

Though it’s clear Chris isn’t asking in an accusatory way, every syllable of Daniel’s darkest thoughts tell him otherwise. 

“I--” Daniel curls up, knees to chest, his free hand clutching at his blonde-dyed hair. The same blonde as Chris’s own natural hair. “I promised him we’d--I’d see us through. I can’t even keep a promise. I  _ killed  _ him instead. Because I refused to give up. So--so I used my powers to--drive, if you can call it that, the car through the border. Chris, there were so many policemen that day.” 

“Shit. And then…?” 

“They--” Daniel swallows the lump growing in his throat. He didn’t deserve to cry. Not after what he’d done. “I swear, I  _ tried  _ to protect us. And I--I  _ couldn’t _ . They just started shooting at us.” 

“Holy  _ shit. _ How the fuck did you not--”

“I don’t know. But I wish I  _ did _ .” 

There is a long, terrible silence during which Daniel wishes Chris would just hang up and not torture him like this.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Daniel.” 

“I killed him because I couldn’t protect him.” 

“Daniel…” Is it just Daniel, or does Chris’s voice sound thicker? “You are  _ not  _ a murderer.” 

“I--” 

“ _ They _ killed Sean, not you.” 

“I failed to protect my brother, Chris. How--”

“Listen to me.” Chris’s voice definitely sounds thick, with a slight tremor. “You tried.” 

“Not enough. And he’s dead. Because of me.” Daniel takes a deep breath, lets his free hand fall limp to the floor, knees still tucked up to his chest. “I’m still a bad person. Look at how I had to survive without him.” 

“ _ How _ ? How in the hell did you, anyway?” 

“Bad things. I had to do it. Stealing, robbing...I was ten years old, Chris. What else could I do? Sean made me promise to be a fighter that day. But I--I don’t think he wanted me to be a criminal.”

“Course not.” 

“We had to do lots of bad things to survive.” Daniel hates how his breath shudders. “Captain Spirit would hate me. He wouldn’t forgive me, right?” 

“Hey…” Chris definitely sounds like he’s crying on the other line. “Of course he would.” 

“Why?” 

“You don’t like it, do you? Having to do it all?” 

“N-no. But…”

“Did Sean like it?” 

“No. We--” 

“It happens all over the world. People having to do things like steal to survive. Like...like you and Sean had to, right?” 

“Bet they never get their older brother killed though. Sometimes I wish--I wish I was never born. Then maybe he’d be alive.” 

“Then I’d have never met you, Superwolf. And you’d never have saved me from falling from the treehouse.” 

“But Sean would be alive. Maybe--” Daniel doesn’t bother wiping the tear that has escaped his left eye. “Maybe dad would be alive too. Maybe we’d all be. Maybe we would never have run away.” 

“And maybe we’d never have met, like ever.” 

“Sometimes I wish you’d been his little brother instead of me. At least you wouldn’t get him killed. I--I never deserved him as my big brother.” 

“Daniel, you fucking deserved him as a big brother. And I know he wouldn’t trade you for anyone else, right?” 

“He would if he knew--”

“Nah. He’s the coolest big brother anyone could have had.” 

“Yeah. Except me.” 

“Uh,  _ yes _ , including you. You’re not a murderer, Daniel.” 

“You say that. What would--”

“Captain Spirit would say the same, dude. He’d forgive you because you had to do things to survive that you didn’t like, right?” 

“If--if you say so.” 

“What would Superwolf do?” 

“I--I don’t know.” 

“Well, I know. He would’ve wanted to help any way he could. Because you deserve it.” 

“N--”

“Hey, dude, don’t even. You deserve it. It sucks what you’ve had to do and go through, but you survived.” 

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to live some days. You know? Just walk out into the fucking ocean and--and...you know.” 

“And yet you’re still here. Right?” 

“I couldn’t help it. I’d then think of Sean. And I just knew…” 

“Knew he wouldn’t want you to kill yourself?” 

Daniel staggers a little in his response, struck by how bluntly Chris had guessed what he’d tried to do more than a few times. 

“Y-yeah. That. He’d--he’d--”

A stray line cuts across his memories, a loud declaration from Sean that day in Haven Point. 

_ “I’ll even cross hell or whatever if I need to!”  _

Daniel presses the heel of his hand against his eyes. “He’d have crossed hell to save me. He--he said that once.” 

“Yeah, he’d so do that. Because you’re his little brother, and yeah, I met him only what, twice, and even I know he’d never trade you for anyone else.” 

“You think so?” 

“I  _ know _ so.” 

Daniel hears the faint sound of footsteps on Chris’s end. 

“Hey buddy, what’s up? Breaking up with a girlfriend?” 

“N-no, dad,” Chris responds, his voice a little muffled and far away, “You’ll never guess who.”

“Who you’re breaking up with?” 

“Dad! I’m not breaking up with anyone!” 

“Okay, okay. What’s the cryfest for?” 

“Dad...you remember Sean and Daniel, don’t you?”

“The Reynolds’ grandsons?” 

“Yeah. Guess who’s on the line?” 

“Impossible!” 

“Yeah, it’s Daniel. He’s...in Mexico.”

“Really? Alive?”

“Alone.” 

“Knew that kid was a survivor. Shame about his brother.” 

“Y-yeah. I know.” 

Daniel teeters on whether to hang up or not, feeling more than a little awkward overhearing the conversation. 

“How’d that kid survive in Mexico anyway?” 

“That’s--that’s for him to tell me.” 

“Ah, I get it. Tell him I say hi, won’t you?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Sure I will.” 

The heavy footsteps fade away, followed shortly by a door shutting. 

“Daniel? You still there?” 

“Yeah. I am.” 

“Oh...good.” Somehow it comforts Daniel to hear Chris so relieved. “Hey, Daniel.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I--I have to leave now,” Chris sounds dejected as he says this, “but…”

“What?” 

“Thanks for calling, dude. You just made my day. No, scratch that. My fucking  _ year _ . Hell, maybe the next ten years of my life!”

“What? No way. I--”

“Dude, I spent the last seven years thinking you and Sean were  _ dead. _ ” Chris’s words break, and Daniel can hear the soft sound of a tissue being pulled out of a box. “Fuck’s sake. I’m fucking bawling over here. Swear. No wonder dad thinks I’m breaking up with someone.” A strained laugh, followed by the sound of him blowing his nose. “You better call again, Superwolf. Promise?” 

Daniel’s sure he’s going to join the “cryfest” as well if he stays on the line any longer. 

“I--I swear.” 

“Promise.” 

“Promise. I  _ fucking  _ promise.” 

“Good. I’m holding you to that, Daniel.” 

Daniel doesn’t want to say goodbye to Chris, but he does, and the line goes dead. 

He stares at the phone for a long time. 

Was that real? 

Had that really happened? 

Had Chris really forgiven him? Had he really made Daniel swear to call again?

Was Daniel no longer a lone wolf forever lost without his brother? 

Yes.

Yes, that had really happened. 

He wasn’t alone anymore. 

Alone in Mexico, yes, but the world?

No. He had someone. 

Someone who still listened to him. Who still cared about him. Even after seven years.

Daniel lets the phone slip from his fingers. 

He feels the sobs start from somewhere deep in his ribs, the muscles in his shoulders tensing. 

He doesn’t stop the tears, he doesn’t stop the way his jaw clenches when he starts crying, wrapping his arms tight around his knees, knowing he isn’t alone anymore. 

Despite everything he is still loved.

He doesn’t deserve it, he really feels he never will. 

But maybe...maybe one day he will. 

Just not today.

Maybe tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> "This won't end up as long as my LIS1 fics," I told myself in naive thought when I'd started writing this. "Daniel's presence won't end up making my fics as long as my Max and Chloe ones."  
> Boy. Was. I. Wrong. Daniel's presence is enough when it comes to making my wordcount zoom past the 4000 word mark, but throw Chris in there? Boom. Word count through the roof.  
> This took me forever to write, with part of it written while on a boat returning over rocky seas from a marine geology field school, but it's finally DONE. Lone Wolf can finally leave my brain alone because I HAD to write something for this ending to give me the peace of mind I wanted after having seen it. (For the record, I got the Redemption (with Lyla) ending on my first playthrough.)
> 
> This is also based on my lower morality playthrough where Daniel ended up basically teetering on the border, as it were, between high and low morality. He really did NOT want to take revenge on the vigilantes, nor did he want to "hurt any more people" at the police station, AND showed concern for that police officer dude who got knocked out. But try and surrender at the border, and...well...


End file.
